


Touch

by robbiebabe



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, UST, on stage, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8472259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robbiebabe/pseuds/robbiebabe
Summary: It's one of the convention concerts and somebody lets Misha on stage when he's drunk and handsy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **This could be read as slight dubcon**
> 
> Also, I've never written smut. This is literally the closest I have ever gotten to that, so tell me what you think(even though this is decidedly unpolished).

He’s in the middle of a song when he sees Misha run up from the back of the room. The crowd goes wild, of course. It’s when Misha clumsily gets up on stage Rob realizes he may be in trouble. Misha’s visibly drunk. Rob’s struggling to keep playing and not let himself get distracted, and he thinks it’s working well enough, but then Misha presses himself up against Rob’s back and puts his hands around Rob’s stomach. There’s only so much a man can take. He feels himself shudder slightly under Misha’s touch, trying to laugh it off as he shakily finishes the song.

“What _is_ going on right now?” he says jokingly into the microphone, while Misha’s hands keep roaming over his torso, stopping once to pinch one of his nipples. He jerks back in response, and again, laughs harder than he should, because this is an uncomfortable situation to be in in front of a crowd of people who already look at everything he does way too closely.

Misha is massaging his shoulders right now, and Rob throws a pleading look at Borja over on his left, but what can he do? Rob decides to continue with the next song, but before he can say as much, Misha leans over his shoulder and starts talking into the microphone.

“Aren’t they fantastic?” he says, one hand creeping down to grip at Rob’s hip and the other holding him by the shoulder. Rob felt hot before; now he’s positively burning. He barely registers the answering cheer from the crowd. Misha continues: “Doesn’t Rob look fucking hot up here?” he says, as if this question is just as innocuous as the previous one. The cheers come through louder, this time. “You wanna hear some more?” Misha asks, and thank god, Rob thinks, this might be salvageable after all.

They start playing Crooked Wheel, next on the set list, and it feels as though Misha is backing off from him slightly. Rob sees Matt out of the corner of his eye, talking to Misha with a hand on his shoulder.

Rob focuses on the song, trusting that everything behind him will sort itself out. This turns out to be a mistake, because not 30 seconds later, Misha is back, practically plastering himself to Rob’s back, this time so closely that Rob can feel a hardness press up against his lower back. Misha’s hands encircle his waist again, and Rob has to give up trying to play the guitar. It’s all he can do to keep singing. Thank god this is a song he knows better than most.

He keeps smiling, laughing into the bright lights in his eyes that somewhat blind him to the thousands of people staring back at him. It’s an illusion; he knows they’re there. But Misha’s hands on his torso, one of them wandering down to his right front pocket, they are more real than anything right now. The movement causes the fabric of his jeans to shift against his already half-hard dick, and his voice gives out on him for a couple of lines in the middle of the song. At least his guitar somewhat obscures his crotch. He’s sure he must be red in the face by now, but he can’t think about that, can’t think about or even see what’s going on around him. His whole world has narrowed down to the microphone in front of him and the warm body pressed against him.

He has the presence of mind to think _this can’t possibly get any worse_ when he feels Misha roll his hips behind him, grinding himself against Rob, and Rob can’t help but push back slightly, his breath hitching. He meets his friend’s advances because he _wants to_. Once the thought runs through his head, all Rob wants to do is turn around in Misha’s arms and pull him down to his mouth-

Then Misha’s hand is under his shirt, directly on his lower stomach, slightly obscured from view by the guitar, but not completely, Rob would bet. He shivers involuntarily and leans back slightly, and before this all goes completely insane - he already feels one or two of Misha’s fingertips just underneath the waistband of his jeans - the song comes to a forceful end.

Rob laughs towards the crowd again; what else can he do? And this time he walks easily out of Misha’s reach and sees that Matt and Osric are both there to sweep him off the stage. They all laugh. The crowd cheers. Rob lets the rest of the setlist wash over him until the night is over and the lights are off, and that’s when he starts thinking about how he’s going to be able to _face_ Misha the next day, after all this.

Back in his room on one of the top floors of the hotel, lying in his bed that night, he’s got his hand on himself before he can stop it, and he realizes that his real dilemma is more how he’s going to be able to get through the night.


End file.
